#temerarious

[gimmeaweirdword]

Temerarious

[ tem-uh-rer-ee-uhs ]

Adjective

1. Recklessly daring; rash and fearless in a way that may be considered foolish.

2. Marked by or resulting from unthinking boldness.

Synonyms (def. 1)

Audacious

Daring

Foolhardy

Reckless

Adventurous

Origin

Early 17th century; from Latin "temerarius;" from "temere," meaning by chance.

Example

His temerarious attempt to climb the mountain without proper gear was met with concern from fellow hikers.

Related Forms

Temerariously (adv.), Temerariousness (noun)

[writtense]

someone come to Tyria pride with me tomorrow

[unita2org]

CASO BUSCEMI: dopo 4 anni il tribunale di Pisa archivia la querela dell’ex assessore contro la Casa della donna

Associazione Casa della donna https://www.casadelladonnapisa.it/caso-buscemi-dopo-4-anni-il-tribunale-di-pisa-archivia-la-querela-dellex-assessore-contro-la-casa-della-donna/ “È stato esercitato il diritto alla critica politica”, questa la motivazione della sentenza. Grande soddisfazione della Casa della donna che ringrazia la città per aver sostenuto una battaglia di civiltà e democrazia Pisa,…

[loquaciousquark]

My dog is getting old. This has happened to everyone in the history of the world who has ever loved a dog.

It's my turn, horologically speaking, to watch age catch up to him. I keep trying on the grief to see how it fits. Today I'm more sanguine; today I'm remembering the good days and the good years. The lump in the throat still hurts.

It's hard for him to stand up now on the bad days. Especially in the evenings, especially when a few hours ago he'd flung himself wall to wall with joy when I got home from work; and especially first thing in the morning when he wakes stiff as a board in the hips. On the good days he can still take the four stairs up to the living room in one light-speed jump when he's on a tear, though he trusts the kitchen linoleum much less than he used to. Today's a bad day. Yesterday was worse.

There's a faint discolored patch on my quilt where he sleeps. Right side, foot. It took half a decade to show up, and every few months I give it an extra soak in a bleach-filled bathtub. It still never really goes away; besides, he puts it right back on. Not tonight, though. Tonight he sleeps in the front room, because the stairs up to me are too hard. He watched me go up tonight without him and his tail drooped so low it touched the floor. He's only been mine eight of his eleven years, but I was there when he came home the first time, when he was exactly eight weeks old. I held him up in one hand like a waiter's tray and it was easy. He's ninety pounds now and I can't help him much at all.

German Shepherds are prone to hip dysplasia. Half-breed, half-hipped, I'd hoped, but on the bad nights he struggles to get up on those back legs like he's heaving ballast off a sinking ship. The husky part of him just seems to make him shed and yell, especially when I'm late getting home. I'd hoped for a little more time from the mix, maybe. But maybe not.

He's finally gotten used to fireworks. Thunder's mostly all right now, unless it's very bad. The washing machine is a new terror; sometimes I forget until it goes into the spin cycle and he lifts my legs off the ground trying to crawl under me. He eats books when he's anxious, when I've committed the temerarious crime of coming home and leaving again in the same day. Cold Mountain is nothing more than shredded cardboard and a few strung-together chapters, a sacrificial lamb to preserve Catherine, Called Birdy and Holes. The Private Patient died years ago.

He didn't want to come indoors tonight. The dryer was going, almost as bad as the washing machine, and there were stairs between him and bed. He let me coax him in at last, because I can't lift him and can't push him, and he made it clear that when he stiff-leg trotted inside he did so because he loved me, not because he wanted to. I sat with him while he found an acceptable patch of rug in the front room; I cooed and petted him and gave him a treat he didn't earn. He still whined when I left and looked like he wanted to get up, but didn't think he could make it.

He's getting old; it's his turn. His muzzle is turning white and his eyes have gone cloudy with cataracts. 2+ nuclear sclerosis, maybe -- probably all a little blurry, that's all. No PSCs, no cortical spoking; central vision's honestly probably fine. The vet keeps saying dogs adapt well. He can certainly see the stray cat who keeps lurking on my front porch. I'd like them to be friends, but a week ago he got out and chased her off like a bullet from a gun. His hips were good that day, and adrenaline covers a multitude of sins.

I have a picture of the first time we took him to get a Christmas tree. He's sitting and looking up and his head isn't even high to my knee. I remember watching him tear around the dog park lap after lap after lap, the single mixed greyhound out of fifteen or twenty dogs the only one who could keep up with him. I have pictures of him at the end of nearly every lecture I give; lately I've been tripping over them like rocks, stony little griefs worked loose from a streambed when the water moves too fast.

I'm thirty-five years old. I keep thinking that every dog who was alive on the planet when I was born is dead. Most are long dead. My dog has meds to help, which is comforting. I have a vet who will help me put him to sleep in my home, his home, when the time comes. Two to four years, she guesses, maybe, if he doesn't get cancer. When I watch him struggle to stand up I wonder if that's not too long for kindness.

It's a very human thing to miss someone before they die. Dogs don't do that. They live in an endless now, like a kid in a yellow summer. Now, I love you. Now, it hurts -- now it stops. Now, I love you.

I want that for us for what's left, for whatever one two three four years we have. When it happens, I want him to die in no pain, looking at me holding him where all his toys are, his favorite rope, his purple pig, his leash, his tennis balls. I want him thinking nothing but Now, I'm tired; now, I'm happy.

The empty place at the foot of the bed hurts tonight. The grief stings and bites, worse because I know I'm borrowing it ahead of time, because he's asleep fifteen feet below me, warm and full, even if tonight's a bad night and the stairs are too hard. I have to sit in it, though, just for a few minutes. Try it on for size. It's his turn, I keep thinking, and mine. Everyone who has ever loved a dog has done this before me. Now, I love you. Now, I miss you. Now, it hurts.

[ggpost]

Vivere con leggerezza, ma non sconsideratamente.. essere gioiosi senza essere chiassosi, essere coraggiosi senza essere temerari.. mostrare fiducia e allegra rassegnazione senza fatalismo.. questa è l’arte di vivere..

- Jean de La Fontaine

[scogito]

Care donne,

che avete abituato gli uomini a non fare niente, a fare il primo passo voi, a rompere il ghiaccio voi, a incoraggiarli voi, a corteggiarli voi, a rassicurarli voi.

Poi vi trovate davanti bimbi minkia di 30 anni incapaci anche di dirvi ciao e restate male perché non sono temerari e coraggiosi!

Poi incontrate belle statuine convinte che "corteggiare" sia lanciarvi l'occhiata e mettersi in mostra, e vi lagnate perché sono indecifrabili e sfuggenti!

Poi avete a che fare con un vostro alter ego che vi batte pure in emotività, e vi disturba che sia instabile e in difesa!

Li avete creati voi nel momento in cui gli avete dato la pappa in bocca, nel momento in cui lui non si avvicinava e allora giù a inseguirlo! Nel momento in cui li avete trattati come bambini, e tutte le volte in cui il "femminismo" è diventato "prendere il posto loro".

E questa cosa vale molto per le nuove generazioni, perché si comportano già così ragazze di 12-13 anni.

Continuate, mi raccomando.

[ritens]

Weekly anatomy practice with the Temerarious crew. Week 1 : LEGS

I opted to study neocaridina shrimp bodies instead of humans. Watch me paint a HDR shrimp at the end of this.

[muralikesgames]

Adventures Across the Realm - Part 20

Hildy: "Here, take this! Yon path's treacherous, plagued by the undead, so you should make use of holy magic."

When it comes to helping hired Pawns with their quests, Hildegard didn't mind taking charge of "mundane" goals like camping around Vernworth. However, despite appreciating her gifts, Eshfa (@brinnybee) was worried that this Arisen will beget trouble.

Minerva (DDJ0CZ9BFUMU) was inclined to agree, but with reassurance from Kass, they entrusted their quest to this temerarious warrior. That huge sword on her back didn't seem to be for show after all.

It didn't take time for conflict to occur. A few steps out of Vernworth, and they were approached by phantoms. Thankfully, two of them wielded holy magic to good use, dispatching the ghastly foes in the blink of an eye.

They had a moment to rest shortly after, where Hildy told the hirelings a story of a poor Minotaur being thrashed around.

However, when the forest was haunted by a terrifying foe, ready to ambush travelers who let their guard down, such respite could never last long.

Despite the challenge presented to her, Eshfa did not hesitate to grab her exalted weapon and charge ahead, putting Hildy's gift to good use once more.

Though they've only met each other recently, they had amazing coordination between offense and defense. This teamwork allowed Eshfa to land the final blow on the Dullahan, banishing it from this world.

While the two hirelings were glad to be victorious, Hildy and Kass seemed way too excited about what just transpired. They were glad that the Dullahan died right before sunrise where it could have escaped, like their previous encounter with one did.

Their celebration was short-lived once more, thanks to a Drake standing in the path to their next camping spot. They could have taken another path, but as predicted, this Arisen begat trouble, ready to challenge the beast.

However last night's encounters have proven that they can stand against all formidable foes, so long as they kept working together. Only confidence remained in these pawns' hearts.

With such confidence, victory was assured!

Eshfa: "The Arisen seems to be celebrating again."

Minerva: "Indeed. I do not know what to say."

Bonus Eshfa scaring a saurian to its death.

[trainwreckgenerator]

The DISCONSOLATE SKY-CAPTAIN, Doctor Crucifer - a temerarious smuggler and incendiary writer, known to revolutionary enclaves across the high wilderness. Crying at the stars stings worse when your cornea have turned to glass.

[warxpunkxmonk]

Temerarious

A chance of affinity Between you and I Previously wounded Patchy from deluders We resolved on faith Leaping passionately Outreached hands open Finally seizing love

wpm

[donaruz]

il menestrello del country

"Il successo è doversi preoccupare di ogni maledetta cosa al mondo, tranne che del denaro".

Johnny Cash, alla nascita John Ray Cash

Kingsland, 26 febbraio 1932 – Nashville, 12 settembre 2003

"The Man in Black"

"Ti chiedi perché mi vesto sempre di nero,

perché non mi vedi mai colori addosso,

e perché il mio aspetto sembra cupo.

Beh, c'è una ragione per le cose che indosso.

Indosso il nero per i poveri e gli sconfitti,

per i disperati, che vivono nei quartieri malfamati.

Lo indosso per il detenuto che ha pagato per il suo crimine, ma è lì, perché è lui stesso vittima di questi tempi.

Indosso il nero, per chi non ha mai letto, o ascoltato le parole di Gesù sulla felicità che si ottiene attraverso l'amore e la carità, sai, dovresti sapere che sta parlando direttamente a quelli come me e te.

Beh, so che sarei piu' "fico" su fiammanti automobili e vestito sgargiante

Ma vestito così non dimentico tutti quelli che stanno indietro, alla loro testa ci dovrebbe essere un uomo in nero.

Lo indosso per i malati e i vecchi lasciati soli,

Per i più temerari il cui bad-trip li ha stecchiti,

Indosso il nero ogni mattina per la vita che avrebbe potuto essere, perchè ogni settimana perdiamo un centinaio di bravi giovani.

Lo indosso per le migliaia che sono morti,

credendo che il Signore era dalla loro parte.

Lo indosso per un altro centinaio di migliaia di morti, che credevano che tutti fossero dalla loro parte.

Beh, ci sono cose che non saranno mai giuste lo so, e le cose hanno bisogno di cambiamenti ovunque.

Ma finchè le cose non inizieranno a cambiare,

non mi vedrai mai vestito di bianco.

Mi piacerebbe indossare un arcobaleno ogni giorno, e dire al mondo che tutto è ok,

certo cercherò di portare via un po 'di oscurità addosso, ma fin quando le cose non saranno ancora più luminose, sono l'uomo in nero."

Atlantide

[valentina-lauricella]

La madre

Mi è stato ripetuto che non sarei dovuta nascere, visto che non ho preso il meglio dai miei genitori. E che, essendo tanto infelice e disgraziata, avrei dovuto astenermi dal fare un figlio. Mi chiedo come farò, ancora una volta, a sopravvivere alla durezza e al disprezzo - non dico alla verità - di queste frasi. Mi chiedo quanto lontano andrà ancora la mia mente, per salvarmi. Quali percorsi sempre più strani prenderà, quali ganci in mezzo al cielo si fabbricherà. Perché, vivere, bisogna pur farlo. Non è facile che gli altri, nonostante i loro sforzi, mi convincano a provare odio e insofferenza per me stessa fino a sopprimere il mio istinto vitale, l'unico imperativo categorico palpabile che io abbia mai sentito, tanto da considerarlo come radice di ogni altra legge. Non siate temerari: non mettetevi contro l'unica legge reale, mi viene da dir loro. Non sfidate la natura - vostra madre.

[gregor-samsung]

“ Il protagonista di questa vicenda è l'ibis eremita (Geronticus eremita), in tedesco Waldrapp. Si tratta di un massiccio trampoliere che abitava su pareti rocciose perse tra i boschi di montagna. Un decreto dell'arcivescovo Leonardo di Salisburgo, risalente al 1504, vietava a chiunque di sottrarre i giovani di quest'uccello dal nido, poiché già allora appariva in netta diminuzione nel suo areale. Sulle rocce sovrastanti la sua città, nelle gole del Danubio presso Passau, a Graz, sulle scogliere del Verbano tra l'Italia e il Canton Ticino, sulle falesie dell'Istria, gli ibis eremiti, presenti fin dalle più remote ere in tutta l'Europa centrale (come testimoniano i resti fossili) stavano rapidamente declinando. Fu probabilmente durante una delle carestie così comuni nel XV secolo — quando dopo le terribili pesti nere del secolo precedente la popolazione europea aveva ripreso a crescere in maniera tumultuosa — che qualcuno provò ad assaggiare le carni dell'ibis eremita. Fino ad allora quello strano uccello tra il corvo e il cormorano, dal piumaggio nero con riflessi verdi e purpurei, dalla testa calva e paonazza e dal becco rosso come i piedi e le zampe, aveva ispirato una certa ripugnanza.

E anche il nome non deponeva in favore della sua appetibilità: Waldrapp (cioè corvo selvatico), Steinrapp (corvo di roccia), com'era chiamato in Austria e Svizzera, corneille de mer (cornacchia di mare) in Francia, corvo selvatico in Italia, richiamavano troppo dappresso il dettato biblico che vietava di mangiare, perché impuri, i corvi e gli ibis. Ma, una volta assaggiati i grassi, teneri e implumi nidiacei, la voce si sparse, soprattutto tra le povere e fameliche popolazioni di montagna. E in tutta Europa le colonie di questi uccelli, arroccate su strette fessure di pareti montane a picco nei boschi e sul mare, cominciarono a essere depredate. La situazione precipitò quando della cosa si impadronirono i potenti del tempo, che riservarono alle proprie mense i grassi e rari nidiacei. Cosicché, per rifornire le cucine e le dispense di nobili, dignitari, prelati e margravi, temerari arrampicatori rischiavano la pelle sui più aerei precipizi. E, pur di assicurarsi i ricercatissimi pollastri, intere colonie di ibis eremiti vennero portate all'estinzione. Il decreto dell'arcivescovo servì a poco. Già verso la metà del XVII secolo gli ibis scomparvero da tutta la catena alpina e, probabilmente, da tutto il resto d'Europa. Al loro declino contribuì forse anche, in maniera diretta o indiretta, la lunga serie di inverni nevosi ed estati fredde e piovose che provocarono la cosiddetta «piccola glaciazione» degli anni tra il 1550 e il 1650, che resero precarie per i disastrosi raccolti le condizioni di vita dei montanari. Ma quali che siano state le cause, dopo questo secolo della loro buffa sagoma scomparve anche il ricordo, persino nelle zone in cui essi avevano per millenni vissuto. “

Fulco Pratesi, Nel mondo degli uccelli, Laterza (collana I Robinson), 1983¹; pp. 142-145.

[darlingdekarios]

illuminated.

rating: e for everyone. length: 522 content: Ben Solo x f!reader, fluff

no matter how many sunrises Ben gets with you, each one is cherished more than the last.

The day had only just started to be painted with gold as he was giving a final stir, that undeniable sense of adventure and desire to be on the move rejecting any opportunity to lie still, even just for a moment. As always, he lifted his hands to rub his eyes awake, only to find one of his arms pinned…the moment his morning truly began. 

There were few in the galaxy lucky enough to be greeted with a sight more beautiful and vibrant than any of the stars or suns, and yet he was among them. It was in these gentle moments he felt the luckiest – where you curled beside him with his sweater swallowing your frame, the darkness a contrast to the light pouring through the windows now. Though he could appreciate you as one appreciated the angels from the moons of Iego, it was seldom enough for long. And though as a pilot he was brazen – one could argue temerarious was often the more appropriate word – but these moments required delicacy. 

He reminded himself of that as he leaned in briefly to press a kiss between your brow, willing away the frustrated line that had formed as the daylight sought to end your sleep. He was rewarded – his delicacy always was – as the lightest of smiles pulled at the corners of your lips. It was quick, it always was…if he blinked away any more of the tiredness from his eyes he’d miss it, so instead he fought through the burn until you slipped closer to him, his large form shielding you for a while longer. 

He’d wait until you were ready before he moved – he wouldn’t waste a moment. It wasn’t like him to acquiesce to something so against his very nature so easily – and yet, morning after morning, he did so with you. It was quiet, easy…the familiar lull to comfort wrapping around him warmer than any sun could hope to make him. 

Ben Solo had been fortunate enough to nestle you into part of his morning routine for so many of them now, so many perfect sunrises tucked away into the depths of his mind for a day when he needed to chase the darkness away. No matter how many it had been – hundreds or thousands – your radiance held his attention, a gravitational constant of your own pulling him into you until a large had rested on your cheek, so light it likely felt like just another dream.

You’d wake sooner with his touch, a risk he’d happily take to feel his thumb brush against the soft skin of your cheeks, to soak in the warmth that poured from you. The subtle, slow swipe of his thumb across your bottom lip would, as it always did, quicken your breath – make your heart pound against your chest so hard he could feel it. The gentle press of your lips to his skin would erupt through him like the fires of Mustafar, and he’d bring you from your dreams with a soft kiss to your lips. 

The luminous glow of your smile would be the true start to his day.

masterlist. star wars masterlist.

[karsisdoingart]

REF SHEETS OF THE BADDIES ARE FINALLY FINISHED AND UPDATED! >:3 , i'm so happy how both have turned out!

I almost got jumpscared yesterday as i was working in this ref sheet , after finishing at rendering Devan , when i have returned towards Ellery on the folders , all the layers have fused to a sole yellow color ( the yellow color was for the bg for Devan and instead of deleting the yellow layer , i did clicked the fuse layer option without noticing ). i was panicking that i have lose the whole progress and having to redo Ellery completely bc of that . Fortunately, the program i work ( Paint tool sai 2 ) has that tool of recover the work , so i did recovered the previous file with Ellery completely intact ! no longer a yellow silhouette! :')

Sharing the lore about them undercut:

Devan Belmont ( a known temerarious and merciless batnoid behind that warm and patient personality, he is a fight tournament organizer )

Ellery Belmont (arrogant and king of pettiness, who was an acrobat before joining to fight tournaments at the age of 21)

These two were cage fighters during their youth, with Ellery at 24y and Devan 22y ( and both meet up as opponents , they ended up with a draw and tons of bruises ) . Then outside of the of the tournaments. These two got a private conversation moment and then things between them had clicked.

After 35 years together and raised 5 offsprings ( they adore them with a big passion ) , their love and affection for each other hasn't changed one bit . They take care of each other by Devan trimming Ellery's Claws ( bc he has the habit of biting his own nails ), while Ellery returns the favor at supervising Devan ( Devan has the habit of chew the envolded paper from muffins and cupcakes ) , prevent him to not end up chocked.

[ritens]

made some emojis and a cursed long legged ordis sticker for my temerarious friends on discord